


Addiction

by astxrwar



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adrenaline addiction, F/M, Loki Has Issues, Loki has a god complex, Minor Swearing, it's about the size of Russia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astxrwar/pseuds/astxrwar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's back, and you should say no, but you can't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addiction

Warnings: Mentions of adrenaline addiction, unhealthy relationships, god complexes, and minor language.

 

"Loki."

His name comes out as a hiss through your clenched teeth as your back slams against the door to your house. The porch is dark and murky in the night and you can hardly make out his grin, but you have no trouble hearing him speak.

"Have you missed me, my love?"

You don’t laugh when he says that- you used to, because the idea of something like him being capable of love wasn’t one you’d even consider. He says ‘my love’ but it doesn’t take a genius to realize he only means something darkly possessive- my pet, my plaything.

You say nothing.  
His nails dig roughly into your shoulders, a warning or a threat, as his eyes flare with anger. He hates being ignored- you learned this quickly.

"Answer me." He’s close, leaning in, his voice deadly low and blatantly threatening.

"I haven’t missed you at all," you say with a defiant glare, knowing deep down that you did wait every night on the corner of the street for a few minutes, for him. Maybe you missed him. A little. Or maybe you missed the shocks of adrenaline that flicker through your spine when he fucks you. You can’t ever tell him no- either you’re addicted to the thrill or you’re addicted to him, and you’re not sure which is worse.

"You lie to me, my pet," he says, faking a look of hurt as he pouts. "Why?" When he brushes a strand of hair out of your face, it’s exceedingly delicate, like you’re a porcelain doll he’s wary of breaking. Cool fingertips ghost across your cheek, and you shiver.

"I’m not lying," you answer automatically. It’s more of a habit than anything else, the need to defend yourself whenever you feel accused. But Loki wouldn’t know this.

"I could kill you for your disobedience," he muses offhandedly, in a tone that’s terrifying only because it’s so calm. He’s discussing your murder like it’s nothing.

That should be a sign for you to run.

Of course you don’t.

"I don’t think you will," you say- you sound calm, much more calm than you feel- inside you’re a jumble of nerves and anxiety and terror and maybe, maybe just the smallest, tiniest speck of desire- it’s too small to tell if what you want is the exhilaration, the rush that comes with doing something so utterly wrong, or if you want him, and that wonderful, terrible thrum of electricity in your veins when he kisses you.

Maybe it’s both.

You hope it isn’t both. Both would be bad. Both would mean you have a much bigger problem.

"And why wouldn’t I slaughter you? Because I," he pauses, and a ghost of a smile passes over his lips, flickering by so fast you barely see it, "care about you?”

"No." This much you’re sure of, and you find yourself leaning in towards him, to see his eyes, because if you could figure him out- if you could read him, if you could just _know_ him, then maybe you can get some form of control back. Maybe.

It’s a suicide mission, and that should, at the very least, scare you.

"It’s because I amuse you- as soon as I no longer entertain you, I’ll probably die," you answer, your voice steady and unwavering. You’re sure.

"You learn swiftly, little one. If you are lucky, I may never tire of you," he chuckles, rewarding you with room to breathe. The air tastes of him, it’s almost overwhelming- peppermint and something metallic.

Blood?

Maybe.

"Why are you here?"

He’s half-obscured by the murk of the night, and you can barely make out his smile. You don’t need to, though, because you can imagine exactly what he looks like, with his cheshire grin and gleeful eyes.

"To reclaim what is mine," he murmurs, brushing your hair back over your shoulder and sinking his teeth into your neck.

"Loki, stop it," you hiss, wincing as his tongue drags over the bite he’s left in your skin. "Not right now- inside."

"Whyever not?" He laughs, in between kisses up the line of your jaw, teeth scraping over your earlobe. "Taking you right here, where the world can see- would you not enjoy that, my love? I know I would."

The weight of him presses you back against the cheap wood of your front door, and his mouth meets yours- your hands are gripping his shoulders, trying to push him away but he’s a fucking god and you never stood a chance. His hands are gone from your shoulders and now they’re tight on your hips, his body long and lean and hard against yours. There’s a whipcord strength about him like he could snap your neck in a heartbeat, but he doesn’t- you want to ask why but currently there’s a tongue in your mouth that doesn’t belong to you, and you wonder if maybe your head is screwed on wrong because you might actually be enjoying this.

He chuckles darkly, like he knows how badly you want this, but he couldn’t know- except that your fingers might be tangled in his hair, and maybe you moan just a little when he bites your lower lip. Your whole body thrums with a pulsating sort of electricity that you really have missed more than you’d like to admit.

"Do you like this, my dear?" He murmurs, still with that horrible smile.

You don’t answer, working one hand behind your back with your keys to maybe open the door and get some privacy for what you know is coming. The door handle is pressing uncomfortably into the small of your back, and it takes a few tries to get the key in, by which time your head is tilted back and Loki’s mouth is on yours again- rough, hungry, demanding. You finally get the door open and you’re both stumbling back through the threshold- his hands work up under your shirt and tug it over your head, tossing the bundle of fabric to the floor. You think you hear the door slam shut again, but you’re not really paying attention, given the circumstances. His teeth sink into the side of your neck- you can feel him smirking against your skin, and your body curves against his, one fluid arch that ripples down your spine. He makes a noise that’s almost a moan but not quite, leaning heavily against the wall with one hand while the other runs through your hair, closing briefly around your throat, moving down over your breasts. He drags his nails down your stomach, and you spit a ragged curse at him, but he only laughs.  
You’re working on the buttons of his shirt with shaky fingers, fumbling because everything is happening too slow. It’s finally off, and your palms press insistently against the cool skin of his chest- it’s still not enough, not for either of you- you start towards the bedroom door and manage to at least get into the room before he’s pressing his hips insistently against yours- you can feel his cock through your jeans, hot and hard and wanting.

"Will you beg for me, little one?" He growls, guiding you backwards with a hand on your hip. "Pray for your rightful god to bring you pleasure? Tell me."

The back of your knees hits the bed and you stumble- he shoves you down onto the mattress, still with that infuriating smirk on his face.

"You know I won’t, I never do," you say, but it comes out wavering and choked, like you didn’t mean it.

"We will see about that," he chuckles, undoing the button of his trousers and letting them fall to the floor, kicking the bundle of fabric to the side. You’re half inclined to watch him as he hooks his thumb in the waistband of his boxers- except he’s staring at you with a raised eyebrow, he’s biting his lip and _still fucking smirking_ , because he wants you to watch him, to want him. That’s when you make your decision, locking eyes with him and not looking down, not giving him the damn satisfaction of knowing how wound up you really are. You hear the faint sounds of fabric on skin and see his shoulders move, but nothing else.

"You’ve such fire, my love." He leans over you, thumbing the button of your jeans- you’re pretty sure it’s easy to tell how much you desperately want him, but even so, you’re clinging to the scraps of your decorum like a lifeline.

He shakes his head in mock disappointment, the corners of his lips turned up just the slightest as he yanks your jeans and panties over your hips. You pull yourself farther up on the bed, and he follows you, propped up on his forearm. He brushes aside a stray hair on your forehead with surprising gentleness, and cups your chin for a second before moving down, ghosting over your nipples with just enough pressure to have you arching into his touch. Down farther still, the heel of his palm presses lightly against your clit, his fingers exploring, searching- almost delicately. His lips press to your thudding pulse, flattening his tongue against the reddened skin- there’d be marks come morning, but his icy fingers are doing something absolutely wonderful and you really don’t want to focus on anything else but that.

He curls his fingers slightly and you clench your fists at your sides, biting your lip, doing everything to keep yourself from giving in.

"Why must you deny me?" Loki says with a pout, "Your body welcomes every touch- would it not be easier to simply give in?"

You play this game every single time he shows up at your door- you always have, and his patience can never last long enough for you to give in to him- but this time you’re not sure.

"Why- why would I?" You answer- your breathing is starting to get shallow and ragged as his remains hard and steady, and you don’t completely trust yourself to speak any longer.

His voice drops to a faint whisper against your neck, “Because you want to. It’s in your nature- the desire to be ruled.”

A building pressure is starting in your stomach, twisting and churning with the desire to buck up against his hand, to plead with him for just a little more, a little harder- you’re on the cusp of an earth-shattering eruption and it’s so good it hurts.

He stops.

He just stops, leaving you hanging there, right on the brink. Your pride is probably the only thing keeping you from begging right now, as he starts a trail of open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones, the muted hum of his laughter vibrating against your skin.

"Loki," his name is on your lips as more of a whimper than anything else, as he starts again, slowly, building up to a crescendo that cuts off right at the end. Again, and again, until you’re writhing under him, little gasps and moans slipping past your lips because it’s gotten to the point where you just can’t hold them back anymore.

"Stop teasing me," you whimper, as he drags his teeth over your earlobe.

"Beg for me, my love," he replies, his breath cool against your ear, "Beg for me, and perhaps then."

"I…" Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers skim over your clit, just the lightest of touches. "I can’t, Loki, I- I _can’t_ \- I just can’t."

"Just let go, little one," he urges, "Let me control you, if only tonight."

It’s such a horribly alluring thought, it really is- to give in, just for a night and let someone else take the lead. It’s even worse to give in to _him_ , but he makes it sound so pleasant, so free- addictive, even, and you find your stubbornness fading like mist in the sunlight.

"Fuck," it’s a choked-out, helpless noise that almost sounds like a sob. "Fuck, okay, all right- _Please_ , please, just- please.”  
Loki closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, his tongue darting across his lips. He looks predatory. It’s terrifying- in a horribly good way. Your pulse is thudding in your ears, your blood roaring through your veins and every single one of your senses is on overdrive.

It feels so fucking good.

He’s smirking, and you try to pull yourself up on your arms but he pushes you back to the sheets with so little effort it’s scary. His cock is pressing insistently against your hip as he leans over you, propped up on his forearms. He shifts to the side, and you’re clenching fistfuls of the sheets in your hands, trying to brace yourself.

"You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that, my love," he groans.

The first stroke slams into you hard, and your breath leaves your body in a shuddering cry- you arch up into him, and you feel like you’re burning up, or maybe it’s just that his skin is almost icy cold. It’s almost like you’re losing yourself as he presses his lips to yours hard enough to bruise- it really is easier to give in, but you can’t dwell on that for long because he thrusts into you again and you swear for a second there your brain just stopped.

For once you feel like this is him, like he’s not trying to impress you or gain control over you because he already has it. That’s not to say the real Loki is by any means nice, or even a semblance of sane, but at least when you let out a short moan, he answers with one of his own.

When his lips move from yours he starts to speak- the words are hoarse and desperate, but still so very twisted because that’s who he is.

"Tell me," he hisses, his pace letting up just the slightest, "Tell me, who is your god?"

"You," you choke out, and you’re momentarily disgusted that you even answered, but he rams into you hard and your eyes nearly roll back in your head. "You- fuck, yes- it’s you, _always_ you," you hear yourself say, not even aware that your lips were moving. He’s hitting a place deep inside of you that’s making you see stars, and for some reason you don’t care what you say as long as he doesn’t stop.

Loki closes his eyes briefly, a smile flickering across his face, and you realize that he’s probably getting off on what you said- because he’s got a crazy god-complex the size of Russia that should scare you half to death but it doesn’t. Not right now, anyway, with his cock buried deep inside of you in the dark of a room that smells like sex and peppermint and metal.

"I’m- oh, fuck," you can’t even form a complete sentence, really, because your whole body is strung taut and overwhelmed.

"Don’t," he says hoarsely, as the rhythm of his hips starts to stutter. "Not yet."

You have no idea f you can hold back what feels like a fucking tidal wave, but you try, because you’re completely helpless at the moment and would probably do anything he asked. It’s building, higher than you thought it could, like hot steam. You’re not sure how much longer you can hold everything back, and it seems like it’s been years and seconds all at the same time when he finally says, “Let go, my love.”

It hurts.

It’s the good sort of hurt, though, as you go tumbling, falling over the edge of the precipice, the world flashing past in glimpses of black and grey and bright green eyes. He joins you seconds later, tensing and letting out a rumbling groan as he comes.

You lose yourself, just for a moment, in the feeling; and don’t think of the horrible thing you just did, that you always do. You let yourself believe that right now, lying here in the afterglow, it’s just you and him and nothing else.

He rolls over onto his back next to you, and sighs contentedly. You lay there for a long while, you and him, in the darkness, staring up at nothing. You’re not sure how much time has passed when he finally breaks the silence.

"I should leave," he says finally.

"You should." You agree with a yawn.

"Not tonight, I think." He answers with a yawn of his own, and pulls you possessively to him as he starts to drift off.

You feel something akin to pity rising in your chest, and you wonder for a quick second just how long the both of you can keep up this crazy game of cat-and-mouse.

It’s your last thought before falling asleep.

When you wake, he’s gone.


End file.
